Define Normal Rewritten
by xxMandixx
Summary: The actual book is written from Antonia's point of view. My summer project was to write the book from Jazz's point of view. ENJOY 3 and REVIEW if possible :


Chapter 1

Waiting is like a poison. You can't wait for the person to show up, but you dread the moment they do. It's not like I wanted to do this. If I had a different situation, I would have just blown Dr. Dileo off. But then, he'd call and bitch to my mother, who in turn would bitch to my father, who in turn would obey my mother's every wish to get me to do this. Why go through all the trouble, just to end up right back here?

I pulled out my lipstick, the black was kinda pooling out the sides from over use, so I'm going to have grey stained hands for the rest of the day. Maybe even grey fingerprints on my papers. Bode. I smeared it delicately across my lips, knowing by now where the tube should slide along. Without thinking I smoothed my already ripped jeans. When I bought them, they were in perfectly "normal" as my mother puts it. Here definition and mine of normal are way different. I mean… like, tons.

While lost mental music, the door swung open. The girl in the doorway just froze. I could read it on her face, not like she was trying to hide it or anything.

"_**Not Jazz Luther… Why me? Why was I burdened?" **_She didn't say it, but you could tell. I could see right through her. It'd be easy to squeeze a lie right outta that tall thin body of hers.

"What are you looking at?" I asked, making my sneer as open as possible. Maybe she'd catch on too. I did **not** like **her** either.

"Nothing." She muttered, so many things were darting across her face, it was hard to just catch one. Typical things like my hair, my clothes, probably even the way I sat. I tipped back and laced my hands behind my head just to piss her off. I think it worked.

"You my peer counselor?" I thumped my legs up onto the conference table. A piece of junk anyways.

"Guess so." She whispered. I snorted, define "peer". I'd never known this chick in my lifetime. We'd even probably been at the same school for, like, ages too.

She let out a deep breath as if it was so hard to be here. She slid into the chair farthest away from me as she could get. She puckered her nose, oh well, she didn't like the perfume… so be it. It is what it is.

She smoothed her pleated skirt, as I had done before she had come in. Except, I wasn't wearing a pleated skirt. I'd never get caught dead in one of those. It's the ultimate humiliation. Never to even be looked at as a possibility. I would die if I was forced to wear one. Die.

"Where's Dr. DiLeo?" She asked, like I knew? Ah-duh, I didn't.

"He had some emergency," I told her watching her reaction… Oh no! I'm locked in a room with a crazy person! I'm going to die!, "Probably ran out of Ttic Tacs and had to rush over to 7-Eleven."

She looked like she choked back a laugh. Oh well, no one needs to laugh at my jokes. But only because they came form me right? Yeah, thought so.

"So do you want to start or do you want me to?" I leaned a little farther back in my chair, looking up at the ceiling, searching for any cracks or imperfections. Nothing. I dragged my boots back across the table. They left a black mark. Enough of an imperfection for me.

The girl muttered something under her breath. As if I didn't know it was nasty? Could have just said it out loud darling. Wouldn't have mattered.

"Huh?" I inquired.

"Nothing. Why don't you go ahead?" She muttered back in reply. That's what I thought, "Tell me why you're here."

Why I'm here? Tell me why you're here. I didn't say it though. She wasn't supposed to know, "It keeps me off the streets." She smiled.

Probably wasn't far from what she was thinking. In her mind, I was a drugged up, soon-to-be high school drop-out. To her, it doesn't matter how many sessions I would/could skip. She still got the extra credit, to go on the fan-cee college applications she's just **dying** to send in.

I stood quickly, thrashing the chair out from under so hard it hit the metal heater and toppled over, "Oops." I shrugged, no big deal. Just another imperfection. It could use a few more.

"I can't talk to you clear down there." I pulled out the chair perpendicular to her a bit too harshly. She was uncomfortable. It was fun making her squirm.

"I'm here because Dr. DiLeo says I gotta be. I gotta do fifteen hours of counseling this term." Not exactly a lie, but not exactly the truth. Oh well.

Just for the dramatic of things, and to piss her off a little, I lifted my leather jacket to reveal my watch, "Ten minutes and counting." I loved being a pest. It was just so… so, fun.

She stared at me, at my face, at my everything. I refused to feel uncomfortable though. That was my job.

"Doesn't that hurt?" She asked me, clear voice this time.

She startled me, "What?" Does what hurt?

She lifted her finger and touched her eyebrow. Oh… duh.

"Naw. I mean, it hurt at first. Bled like crazy. I felt like Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Why? You thinking of getting one?" I wiggled my eyebrows. She shuddered.

"Cause if you are, Tatto is having a special. With every body piercing you get a free tattoo." She looked like she was having an internal battle. Not my problem.

"Want to see mine?" I asked. I really didn't care if she said no or not. I was still going to see them.

"Why not." She said.

I tore my boot off and stuck my foot in front of her. Her nose puckered again. It a_** foot**_, what did you expect? She plugged her nostrils. I ignored it.

"Can you tell what it is?" I asked. She came down a little closer. Her breathe dancing across my ankle.

"A blood drop?" Seemed appropriate. It's something she'd think I was into.

"No." I brought it a little closer, surprised she didn't flinch back, "It's a lady bug. See the spots?"

She squinted, "Oh, yeah. Cool." She looked sincere with that comment, "Did it hurt?" She inquired wondrously.

"Naw. The other one did. The one on my… you know." I waggled my eyebrows. " I won't show you."

"Thank you." I laughed, she was relieved. As if I'd actually show her _that. _Ha! I pulled my boot back on.

Checking my watch again, "Sixteen minutes. This isn't so bad. You want to talk about my hair too? 'Cause you keep staring at it."

She went a deep shade of red, deeper than my mother's lipstick. She dropped her eyes and pulled out her folder. She fumbled around in it for a bit. I extended a non-physical helping hand.

"Maybe we should start with our names. I'm Jasmine Luther. Everyone calls me Jazz. Don't ask me why." I drummed out a song on the table waiting for her to reply.

"I'm Antonia Dillion." I extended a hand to shake. 'Proper manors' as my mother would say. Again, oh well, "Nice to meet you, Tone." She flinched this time, bad.

"Why don't you tell me about you first. Then maybe I won't be so nervous." She didn't buy the lie, but went along with it.

"Okay. My name is Antonia. Everyone calls me Antonia." She shot me a look, oh well, "I'm fourteen and in the eighth grade. My favorite subjects are algebra and history. I'm on the honor roll and math club…I _was _in math club. I had to quit. I used to do gymnastics, too, but—"

I yawned real loud. I really had to go. Looking down at my watch I said, "Time sure flies when you're having fun." She just stared. Shocked I interrupted her, "And that's about all the fun I can stand for one day." I stood. She shoved her things back in her bag, obviously disgusted with me at the moment. 'Get used to it' I thought to myself, 'Everyone else is.'

Just to mock her one last time, I turned and said, "Hey, thanks a lot, Tone," I said to her even though she faced away from me, "I feel better already."

I rushed out to meet up with my friends before the bell rang.

_**Oh well.**_


End file.
